The Unpaid Bonus
by BooBaLooPants
Summary: Cobra Commander has always favoured Zartan, and Zartan is happy to go along with it. Destro never is. None of them are happy about the Serpentor situation, though. Cobra Commander/Zartan pairing.
1. Chapter 1

an: I love the Sunbow animated show, but especially the cobra crew. I was kind of disappointed to see a general lack of shippy fics...so here's my rubbish contribution. Enjoy or do not! I'm writing this crap anyway.

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**The Unpaid Bonus**

88

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It was likely that the commander was probably insane.

Zartan had known this for some time now, and it had never been much of a turn off. Quite the contrary, actually.

And anyway, probably insane commanders dealt out their rewards in much the same way the average uninteresting joe on the street might. The end result was always the same: wads of _luscious green cash_.

Money was money, wherever and whoever it came from. Zartan wasn't picky about that, so long as he got some in the end.

"Zartan, where are you?...if you're dead...I-I swear I'm going to_ kill_ you..."

Zartan smirked. The only difference being that probably insane commanders provided far more entertainment than the average and uninteresting joe on the street. They also tended to be a bit more generous with their payouts, due to the probable insanity issue.

"I'm right behind you, commander. Don't fret."

"Don't tell me what to do...!"

Zartan thrashed the rest of the way through the wild bush, following the angry trill of the other's voice. Soon enough, he reached a small and marshy clearing, which seemed to be the main source of the wreckage site.

The first thing he noticed was the swamp skier. It had seen better days; streaked with mud and violent indents struck all across it's sides. Smoke still plumed from it's rear, although it didn't seem like it was going to explode anymore. It was also still half-floating on the water edge, even if it was mostly capsized. A small miracle.

They'd crashed pretty spectacularly, and for a few moments, within the blur of the accident, Zartan had thought he might never get to spend that bonus the commander had so carelessly promised him that morning.

Amongst all the other bonuses Zartan had been enjoying that morning, of course.

"_Zartan!_"

"I'm right _here_, commander."

Luck must have been with them today, since they were both still alive, apparently. Zartan had counted up a few cuts on his own arms, but they were nothing to write home about. He had a feeling the commander had bared the brunt of the crash.

"I think I'm dying," the commander said, as if in confirmation.

Zartan turned round to look at him.

The commander was only a little way from the crash site. He sat on his knees and was clutching his side, like a pitiful child.

Zartan stepped quickly over to him. "Can you get up?"

"_Of course._ Just a minute."

Zartan bent down, but the commander swatted his hand away, accompanying an angry hiss.

"I told you, Zartan. Just a _minute_."

"You also just told me you might be dying?"

"I might have exaggerated. Also I was trying to make you feel bad."

Zartan snorted. In better circumstances he might have laughed. The commander was always interesting, if nothing else.

Zartan sometimes wondered if that was why he bothered to stick around. Or ever agreed to any of this lunacy, for that matter. Maybe he just enjoyed poking at something that was a bit unhinged every now and then, just to see what would happen next. It was kind of fun.

He prodded the commander in the side, with the toe of his boot. The commander hissed again, shoving his foot away.

Zartan grinned. "Good to know you're not actually dying, then. I'll have a go at fixing this thing."

"Fixing what? That gaping hole in your brain?"

Zartan ignored him, and turned his attention back to the swamp skier. It was in dire condition for sure, but Zartan was handy with things like that, and he didn't like to pass up the chance to impress his sullen employer.

"I think it looks much worse than it actually is," he assessed.

"I think that's very wishful thinking."

"It's fixable. Have some faith, commander."

The commander scoffed.

"Oh, I have _faith, _Zartan. Faith that Destro is going to enjoy rubbing this latest failure in our faces. And he's going to have a huge 'I told you so' party about it."

Zartan pressed a hand to the skier's side, and pushed it upright with a heavy grunt. Dirty water spewed all around it, as it righted itself back onto the waters.

Wafting away the smoke that already seemed to be thinning away, Zartan grinned triumphantly over his shoulder.

"A party? You think we'll be invited to it?"

"I'd much rather die."

Zartan wiped the mud from his gloved hands. "Who cares what that metal face thinks, anyway? And see, what did I tell you? It's fine," he patted the side of the skier.

"Congratulations, Zartan. You made a boat float. I'm very proud," the commander stood up, albeit quite slowly. He placed a hand on a tree trunk, clutching it, for whatever reason. "And that's all very easy for you to say. You're not the one paying out ludicrous sums of money to keep Destro in line..."

Zartan stepped onto the skier with a little tentativeness. It bobbed in the waters (no surprise), and he silently commended himself for another small miracle.

He offered the commander a smug look. "I don't even know why you still keep that tin-face in your employment. Nor Mindbender, for that matter. I wouldn't trust any of them. Except me, obviously."

The commander laughed, though it sounded somewhat resigned.

"What would you have me do? Ask Serpentor to make some drastic redundancies? I'm sure that'd go down extremely well."

Zartan rolled his eyes. "Oh, to hell with Serpentor."

He turned back to the skier.

The control panel was blinking with life, and Zartan flicked a switch, listening as the vibrations melded into a stuttering revving sound. It didn't sound very healthy, but it was better than nothing.

"Oh ye of little faith, commander. Works like an absolute charm."

He waited for a sheepish response, but it took longer, and when it did, it was only an uneven sort of sigh.

Zartan turned round, and forgot all of his smugness at once.

The commander had slumped back against the tree, and Zartan could already see the tremor in his chest as he sunk slowly down to the ground.

Zartan ran over, and knelt down to him. "Are you alright-"

"_Of course,_" the commander pushed Zartan's hand away, rather feebly this time. "Perfectly fine..."

"No point lying, commander," Zartan grasped his wrist, holding it still. "I know you too well for all that nonsense."

The simple gesture seemed to do the trick, and the other stopped struggling, although with some reluctance.

"I wish you didn't know me so well," the commander said, in a sulky voice.

"Ah, well that's too bad, isn't it."

Zartan felt his sneer settle into something a bit more amiable.

As it was, he'd never expected, nor ever even _wanted_ to develop any sort of familiarity with the commander. It wasn't very professional, for one. And a mercenary was supposed to keep all of his employers at arms length, if at all possible.

But this one had crept up on him, somehow. Gotten much closer than arms length in too many ways. _Sneaky little bastard._

It wasn't so terrible, though. And maybe it was something more than familiarity.

Whatever it was, it was enough to sting at Zartan's elusive conscience.

"Tell me where it hurts, commander."

"...it doesn't hurt._ Leave me alone._"

Zartan grimaced. He could easily imagine the angry pout behind that mask, even if he'd never seen it.

"If you won't cooperate, I might have to be a bit more forceful about it, commander."

The commander's chest hitched, with what might have been a thin laugh.

"Nothing new there, Zartan."

Zartan snorted, and decided to take the jibe as a means of consent. He began to unfasten buttons he was already indecently familiar with, and ignored the commander's scandalised curse.

"...careful! You're...you're never usually this _eager,_ Zartan-"

"Hah. And you're never usually this nervous, commander."

"I'm not nervous, I'm furious!"

"My mistake."

Zartan's sneer faded, as he opened the commander's jacket up to an exposed chest. The flesh there was already purplish, with nasty and blossoming bruises around the rib area. It didn't look pleasant at all, but it probably wasn't going to be life threatening either.

Do you think I'm going to die?" the commander asked, his mirrored gaze apparently not leaving Zartan's face.

Zartan shook his head. "Not likely. Probably just some cracked ribs. Aren't you a lucky son of a bitch? "

"How awful. Serpentor_ will_ be disappointed."

Zartan pulled a face, unable to help himself.

"Like I said. To hell with him."

"_Careful_. I could have you done for treasonous behaviour, Zartan," the commander sounded like he might be smirking.

Zartan did not return it, for once.

In all honesty, the Cobra Emperor had become a tiresome concept to Zartan long before he'd ever been properly introduced to him, and he didn't need any details to know exactly how he operated as a leader. Zartan could gage it, and he realised it well enough. It was _easy_; just seeing the way the commander flinched, whenever Serpentor got too close to him. Or sometimes when he merely spoke to him.

Zartan had never seen the commander like that before, and it had been surprisingly upsetting.

He stared at the bruised chest, something compelling him to wonder about it all.

"Are you enjoying the view?" the commander seemed amused, as he batted Zartan's curious hand away. He quickly began fastening his jacket back up. "Serpentor probably thinks we're already dead, anyway."

"Good," Zartan muttered. "And _good riddance_ to all of them, I say."

The commander shook his head with a short laugh that was probably ill-judged. He winced, and gripped his chest as he spoke;

"...you couldn't abandon Cobra, Zartan. You receive your biggest pay checks from us."

Zartan rolled his eyes, but found himself unable to argue the point, even as he placed a placating hand on the commander's shoulder. As if that was supposed to ease his pain.

It was true, he couldn't bring himself to turn down any of Cobra's more generous offers, even if he tried. And the commander, despite some of his naivety, seemed to know that better than anyone.

Zartan grasped his shoulder a bit tighter.

"Why don't you just stay?"

"...what?"

"Forget going back to Cobra base," Zartan shrugged. "Stay here."

The suggestion felt so easy and inconsequential in the moment.

Besides, talking to the commander was always very different to talking to anyone else. There were no eyes to decipher the various and complicated emotions of. No frowns or smirks or scowls that might indicate what Zartan was supposed say, or even take from their conversations.

Zartan could make it all up if he wanted to. He could imagine the frowns and smirks wherever they suited him, and in the meantime he only had to contend with his own mirrored reflection in that mask. Always somewhat abstracted, but also confident in the knowledge that he'd get his way in the end.

The commander was always too soft with him, after all.

"Stay_ here?_ Hah...you're quite funny, Zartan," the commander said at last, in an alarmingly quieter voice. "That's why I like you."

He tilted his head away, in a gesture that could have meant literally anything at all.

Zartan knew exactly what it meant, though.

"Are you so embarrassed, commander?"

The commander scoffed. "...don't flatter yourself so much, Zartan."

But he didn't turn his head back, and Zartan could hear the uneven edge in his tone.

He smiled, and tipped the commander's head back to face him, as if he could gather any sort of expression from that. His own cocksure grin reflected back at him, as usual.

"_What?_" the commander demanded, but his words were shaken. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Zartan said. "I was just thinking it's very endearing, that's all."

Then he pushed the commander the rest of the way down, and into the grass.

Perhaps _that_ was why he stuck around.

Just knowing that he was the only one who got to push at buttons nobody else knew about, or even dared to think existed within their terrible commander. It must have been that; as he pressed at skin which was always softer than he remembered, and listened to sounds that were always more fragile than he could ever recall afterwards.

There was a pained hiss, and he felt limbs trembling to reach around his back.

Zartan murmured a vague apology, remembering bruised skin. It was hardly going to stop him, though.

"...am I...am I supposed to pay you extra for this...?" the commander asked. He sounded breathless and overwhelmed. "I-I didn't plan for it..."

Zartan snorted, if only to disguise the strange pang that had found his chest.

It must have been another attack of conscience. And then the slow realisation that he hadn't even thought about the damned money this time.

_Not even once._

"...I don't expect payment for my own unplanned pleasures, commander."

Then he felt a much more delicate sigh, like relief, moving slowly beneath him.

"_...hah...very well, then..._"

The commander's voice became brittle, and his hands uncurled into clinging fingers around Zartan's back, like some_ very urgent_ invitation.

Zartan was only happy to accept it, and for a while, as the sun peaked through the overhanging trees, he didn't need to think about anything but his own selfish desires.

8

8

Mercenary work was often fairly easy business, if not always easy money.

No ties to anyone. No Serpentors or petty middle management to have to answer to or contend with. Straightforward transactions that didn't pertain to dodgy small print he hadn't bothered to read the first time round. It _was_ easy, and the bonuses were something else.

Zartan stretched his arms out around his head, and watched the blueish sky with a serene satisfaction, even as an elbow jabbed into his side.

"I think you've broken some of my bones, you beast."

"Nonsense," Zartan turned round anyway, to appraise the commander. "I was extra gentle."

The commander looked mildly affronted, in the only way a faceless person possibly could; back straightened and huffing sounds, like a kid having a barely constrained sulk. It always made Zartan want to laugh.

"Gentle, my eye. You're like some kind of wild animal, Zartan."

"I didn't hear any complaints at the time. Quite the opposite, actually..."

The commander shoved him, halfheartedly, in the side.

"We have to go. They'll be wondering where we are."

He sounded resentful about it, and Zartan noticed him rubbing his ribs again, with another spark of conscience.

He offered the commander a steadier look.

"I didn't really hurt you, did I?"

"You mean when you sent us crashing off that cursed swamp skier? I'd say you did, and _most magnificently-_"

"I don't mean that," Zartan hesitated. "But I am sorry about that."

The commander folded his arms, as if seriously considering the apology.

"You know, swamp skier's aren't designed to fly, Zartan. But...I suppose it was good fun while it lasted," he paused, and then seemed to shake his head, more to himself. "I seem to have way more fun with you these days, Zartan. Even at the cost of a few cracked ribs. Isn't that funny?"

"Not really," Zartan said, and smiled anyway. "But I understand."

The commander looked away. "You didn't really hurt me, by the way."

His words were uncharacteristically shy, and Zartan was compelled to catch his hand.

"You could still stay, you know."

"And become an honorary Dreadnok? I think I'd rather have Serpentor kill me off first."

Zartan grimaced. "Then I'd have to finish him off for that."

The commander laughed, but perhaps too quickly. "What would you do? Take him down all by yourself?"

"It'd be my absolute pleasure."

The commander stood up, but teetered on his feet.

"You're crazy, Zartan. Crazy and stupid."

Zartan followed after him, hooking an arm round his shoulder.

"Stop listing your best attributes, commander."

They stood still and quiet for a moment, in part to allow the commander to regain some of his composure. Zartan could feel the exerted shake in the other's muscles, and he knew that they'd do better getting back to Cobra base sooner rather than later.

Eventually the commander shook his head.

"Your concern is misplaced, Zartan, touching as it is," he took another shortened breath. "Serpentor will get what's coming to him one of these days. Don't worry about that."

"I can hardly wait, then."

Zartan easily scooped the commander the rest of the way into his arms, and carried him over to the swamp skier before he could even begin to protest it. There, he replaced him on the passenger seat.

The commander looked up at Zartan, and spoke in a sarcastic tone;

"That wasn't necessary at all."

"Perhaps not. But we both enjoy it, don't we?"

"Cocky bastard," the commander folded his arms, but didn't say anything else.

Zartan could imagine his smirk.

He settled into the driver's seat, listening to the hum of the motor. It sounded a little healthier, at least.

He felt the commander's arms, moving automatically around his waist. And then his voice, quieter, and very close to his shoulder.

"Did you really mean it, Zartan?"

Zartan blinked, in some vague confusion. "About Serpentor-?"

"No, not him."

There was a pause, which felt awkward because of their close proximity. And that was strange too, considering how intimate they'd been only a few minutes ago.

"You said you didn't want any payment this time, Zartan. For us."

"Oh, that," Zartan flicked a couple more switches on the control panel, and the water splashed up, all round them. "Well. Obviously I meant it. Or I wouldn't have said it, would I?"

"...I...I suppose not."

The commander sounded so surprised, and it made Zartan smile.

"Just think of it as my unpaid bonus, commander."

As the swamp skier kicked into gear and began to tear across the muddy waters, Zartan tried to remember when it was that he'd allowed probably insane commanders to get so deep under his skin.

It hardly seemed to matter, as hands twitched around his chest, holding onto him a bit tighter, and the deft heartbeat that pulsed against his back seemed to quicken with every passing second between them.

Zartan's smile stretched some more.

Unpaid or not, he was beginning to realise that this bonus was pretty priceless just as it was.

END


	2. Part 2

**Part 2: Bad Influence**

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The rogue swamp skier was more than enough to bring about a curious buzz amongst the Cobra soldiers, before anyone of authority arrived. It puttered slowly into the hangar, a stream of thick smoke trailing it's rear.

Destro recognised it's driver immediately, and his mouth curled an automatic snarl. It couldn't be helped.

"_Wretched Zartan_."

His annoyance turned into something else, when he realised the mercenary had very familiar company with him, and looped awkwardly against his shoulder.

The Cobra Commander didn't look like he was in a good way.

"Damn reptilian fool," Destro snarled again.

He pushed through the commotion of Cobra soldiers and ran the rest of the way to meet them.

"Well? What happened?" his hand twitched out, but not far enough for anyone else to notice.

The commander raised his head - _ah, so he was conscious then - _and pulled away from Zartan.

"..._Destro, _good to see you..." he started to laugh, and then groaned, clutching at his side. "I did miss you, you know..."

Destro snatched him up by the collar.

"_What the hell happened to you_?"

"_Hey, _let him alone-" said Zartan.

"Keep quiet, dirty mercenary."

".._.calm down,_ Destro..." the commander said, through another lilting laugh. "Nothing really _happened, _per say...we just..."

He staggered, as if he might be inebriated, then his slight weight suddenly sunk forwards, and against Destro's chest. The accompanying laughter slid into another pained groan.

"Doesn't sound like nothing," Destro held him upright, and more tightly. "How many times have I told you not to go gallivanting off with a _damned Dreadnok, _of all things..."

"Mercenary," Zartan corrected.

"...oh, you worry too much, Destro..."

"Not at all, actually," Destro assured. He turned his glare back onto Zartan. "Well? Do you care to explain any of this?"

Zartan hung back a noticeable amount, his arms guardedly crossed, as if he didn't trust Destro at all.

The feeling was mutual. The mercenary's smirk was like a permanent fixture these days, and always burned within Destro's mind whenever he cared to recall him (which wasn't very often, if he could help it).

Destro couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand _him_.

Zartan shrugged.

"We had a bit of trouble with the swamp skier, that's all. I think he's cracked a couple of ribs, though. I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking."

Destro's free hand curled into a fist.

"I'd be quite enthusiastic about altering your 'fine' condition, Zartan. Believe me."

Zartan's smirk stretched. "Oh, I believe it. But you might want to offer the commander some medical attention first."

There was another groan, closer to Destro's chest, and Destro realised (resentfully) that Zartan was right.

He barked an order to the flanking Cobra staff, and they all scattered with murmured and conspiratorial sounds. Destro prickled. He didn't want this little disaster getting any further than it had to; and he knew that any further up than himself, and into Serpentor's hands, was always going to be_ bad news_.

"_Idiotic, reckless _creature_,_" he cursed, as if that might make him feel any better about the situation. Of course it didn't.

It wasn't that he even cared. _Not really._

Generally, Destro held nothing but contempt for the commander. Or at best, a threadbare sort of tolerance. Sometimes he felt like a despairing parent, trying to keep his temper around an equally tempestuous child.

_Ridiculous._

There were only tiny moments of anything else between them.

An off-key comment, perhaps. Or else something that reminded Destro that the commander was still human, despite _everything_.

Destro felt fingers, briefly scrunching around his jacket.

"...uh...I don't feel so good, Destro..."

"Commander, please try not to move so much."

It was one of those tiny moments.

"The swamp skier was my idea," Zartan said. It was like some feeble version of an apology.

Destro scowled. "Why am I not surprised? You could have gotten him _killed,_ you careless moron."

Zartan made a huffing sound. "That'd be quite convenient for you, wouldn't it, Destro? A step up the Cobra ladder, perhaps?"

"What exactly does that mean?"

"Exactly what I say."

Destro took a step forward, careful enough not to jostle the commander too much. "I could say the same about you, mercenary."

Zartan laughed. "I'm not the one vying with Mindbender to be Serpentor's number two."

"How_ dare_ you suggest-"

"...can you both stop talking about your hypothetical betrayals, as if I'm already dead...?" the commander said, in a plaintive voice. His hand pushed against Destro, as if he might try and stand for himself, but then he seemed to think better of it. "...it's very...inconsiderate."

Destro mostly ignored him, his glare pressing at Zartan.

"If anyone is suspicious of a betrayal, perhaps it is the one who brings the commander back in this condition?"

Zartan shrugged. "Why would I want to off my most regular source of income? And why would _you_, for that matter? MARS wouldn't be doing so brilliantly either, not without our dear commander's generous offers now, would it?"

"You cannot possibly-"

"Please stop this bickering. It's very tedious. And as the commander says; very inconsiderate."

Destro and Zartan spun round, to see the Baroness standing there, scowling between them as if she might be dealing with a couple of mere delinquents.

She beckoned forward some more cobra staff, and then back to Destro.

"Baroness, I was only-"

"Be quiet, Destro. And try to do something useful."

Destro hesitated, then passed the commander over to the staff with a wordless and strange edge of anxiety.

Feeling the burn of the Baroness's eyes, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to settle anything with Zartan in the way he would have liked anymore (a shame, he was always_ so close_ to having a valid excuse to be rid of the mercenary once and for all).

Instead he frowned at him;

"Don't lump my business dealings with Cobra in with your petty cash '_bonuses_', Zartan. I have no intention of associating with that sort of thing."

Zartan shook his head. "Oh, I wouldn't call it 'petty' cash. You're not the only one the commander is very generous with, you know."

"I am well aware,"Destro pulled a face. "Though I can barely fathom why he still keeps you around. A cheap thrill or two hardly warrants this mess."

Zartan's smirk became lazy and familiar.

"I must know how to show him a _really_ good time, I suppose," he looked Destro quickly up and down. "I do wonder why it upsets you so much, though?"

"_You_-"

Destro felt the Baroness's hand, clutching his arm.

"Come, Destro. We have other things to concern ourselves with, besides irresponsible boys."

8

8

"He has a point, you know."

Destro stared at the Baroness; "Don't tell me you're defending that mercenary scum?"

She laughed at him as if he'd told a poor joke.

"Destro,_ darling_. You are so tense! And that doesn't come from nothing, does it?"

Destro turned a begrudging gaze to the floor. He tried to ignore the fingers that swirled around his masked cheek, like some kind of soothing temptation.

"So it doesn't annoy you, then? The way our commander favours Zartan so much?"

"Sometimes," the Baroness admitted. "But I'm also not so eager to gain the commander's favour, am I?"

"I'm not _eager_! Not in the slightest," Destro said at once. He made a frustrated sound. "But surely...surely you can _see_ that the commander's affections for Zartan...they are totally unjust and nonsensical! The mercenary is nothing but a bad influence. And a safety hazard."

The Baroness laughed again. It was annoying, because it somehow reminded Destro of Zartan, and his smug and unwarranted smiles and glances. A myriad of secrets that weren't really secrets at all. Not if Destro thought too much about them.

He wasn't a fool. He had seen Zartan leaving Cobra hideouts in the earliest hours of many mornings, as well as the commander returning home to them in the earliest hours too. And there was nothing subtle about the way the commander spoke about Zartan, nor the way he might look at him and agree with him, or simply just stand so pointlessly close to him.

It wasn't rocket science. Oh so _far_ _from it._

_Cheap thrills, indeed._

Destro suspected that the commander would quite happily break the bank (as well as a few of his own bones, clearly) just to keep Zartan around.

"Oh, is it so terrible, Destro?" the Baroness said, her face flickering amusement. "Don't you recall feeling such 'affections', yourself? Or are you immune even to my charms, these days?"

Destro muttered, something indecipherable even to himself.

He let the Baroness push him back down onto the bed, before he properly found his voice again.

"So you think...you think that the commander might actually love him?"

"_Love?_" the Baroness's laughter became sharper. "Darling, I had no idea that it might run so _deep,_" she leaned down, her voice softer and close to his ear. "...but who knows? The commander is nothing if not surprising."

8

The medical unit wasn't especially busy that evening.

There were doctors and nurses occasionally passing down the corridors, and sometimes a wounded Cobra soldier entered or exited a room, but apart from that the waiting area was deserted, save for Destro and Zartan.

Zartan peeled away from the off-white wall. "Aren't you going in to see him, then? Or are you just here to interrogate me again?"

Destro glared at the wall. "Actually I'm surprised you're here at all."

"Me too," Zartan seemed to consider it. "I must be getting kind of attached to our dear commander, mustn't I?"

Destro snorted. "How is he?"

"_Ridiculous, _as usual. He refused to take off his mask. So I was banished out here for a bit."

Destro raised a brow. "He won't let you see his face?"

He wasn't sure why he was so surprised about it.

Zartan looked away. "It seems so."

"...I see."

Destro supposed it made sense.

The commander wasn't typically vain about that sort of thing; he even seemed to take some pleasure in other peoples revulsion, whenever he did remove the hood or helmet.

But Zartan was different, because obviously the commander actually _liked_ him. And he probably wanted Zartan to like him back.

Destro stared at the doorway. It was a bleak sort of realisation.

"He does like you rather a lot, doesn't he?"

Zartan spared him a sideways glance. He shrugged. "I suppose?"

Destro cleared his throat, waving away some irritated thoughts.

"In any case, there is the issue with Serpentor which must be dealt with."

Zartan turned to look at him properly. His eyes widened a bit.

"What about Serpentor? He has nothing to do with this."

"Exactly. And it would be in _all _of our best interests to keep it that way," Destro hesitated. "I'm sure you're well aware, we have had more than enough failures between us in recent months. Enough to warrant some cruel and unusual punishments. We needn't add this one to the list."

Zartan's expression soured, in a way that Destro didn't usually get to see. He looked _furious_, and it was sort of interesting.

"I wouldn't stand in the general vicinity of your_ precious_ Cobra emperor, Destro. Never mind have a conversation with him. You needn't worry about that."

The corners of Destro's mouth twitched up.

For just a moment, he could have agreed with the dirty mercenary's sentiments. He held his tongue though.

The door opened at the same time, and a doctor looked between them both with a concerned face.

"_What's wrong?_" they chorused at once.

"The Cobra Commander, despite medical advice...has said that he would like to leave. At once. Am I to allow it?"

Destro rolled his eyes and felt his shoulders sag, in some odd and unexpected wave of relief.

"How surprising. Don't listen to a word he says, doctor. He is a sick _sick _creature. In many ways."

The doctor nodded, and disappeared back into the bay.

Destro started to follow after her, imagining how he might talk the commander out of another irrational move, when a hand grabbed his arm at the last second.

Destro tried to shrug Zartan away, before noticing the mercenary's brow had harshly creased; his eyes were flashing something that could have been panic.

"I didn't mean for this to happen, you know," Zartan said. "This failure...it was _my_ doing, Destro. You understand? If Serpentor does find out, send him to me before the commander."

Destro stared at the hand on his arm, still wanting to shrug it off.

"...I understand your concerns, Zartan. The commander is indeed a_ generous _pay check, and it would be a shame if he was-"

Zartan's jaw clenched.

"_It isn't about that_," he snapped. "I know what 'punishments' your emperor has administered upon him," his voice lowered, in a deceptively soft tone. "And one day I'll kill him for it."

Destro blinked slowly, absorbing the words and Zartan's resolute expression, with a careful but inarguable smile.

"You know...up to this point, Zartan, I've barely been able to understand what the commander sees in you."

"So what?"

"Well. It is starting to make a little more sense now."

Zartan let go of Destro's arm. His smile was humourless.

"Good to know we might finally be on the same page about something."

88

88

The commander was already halfway across the room, entangled in bed sheets and annoyed by bandages, by the time Destro got to him.

Of course it was no surprise; he was incredibly resilient, if equally as foolish. A few cracked ribs appeared to be nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

At least he must have been feeling much better, then.

Destro apologised to the terrorised hospital staff, and easily grasped him by the arm, dragging him back to the bed.

"This sort of behaviour has to stop. It is embarrassing and undignified."

"Spare me a lecture, Destro," the commander said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He flinched, as he lay properly back down onto the bed. "I already know how good you are at those."

Destro refrained from smirking.

"How are you feeling, anyway?"

"Perfectly miserable. And why don't you just get it over with whilst you're here?"

"Get what over with?" Destro leaned forwards in his chair, trying to decipher anything but his own reflection in that mirrored mask. He'd given up on it in recent times, but right now it seemed almost pertinent; as if the commander was actually trying to tell him something important for once.

"Just get on with it," the commander said, his fingers tapping impatiently. "I'm sick of waiting."

"Waiting for_ what?_"

"You know what! '_I told you so'_, and all of that. Get it out of your system, Destro. Go _crazy._"

Destro did smirk, this time.

"It just gets so _tiring_, commander. That's all. Being so right all of the time."

The commander huffed, but didn't say anything.

It wasn't an uneasy silence, and Destro was quite used to a sulk anyway. Besides, it was often a good sign that the commander was conceding Destro was right about something. Though he'd never admit it outright, of course.

It would be a cold day in hell before that ever happened.

"You were right," the commander said, very suddenly.

Destro startled.

"...what?"

"You were right about Zartan. He could've gotten me killed, couldn't he?"

"Well. Yes..."

"But he didn't, and the plan would've worked if we had just-"

"Commander, you can't condone a reckless plan like that. Not just because of some cheap thrills and-"

"_I shall condone whatever I like!_"

The commander's fist wasn't especially painful, but it still took Destro by surprise.

He reeled back with the impact against his cheek, before gathering his senses quickly back together.

Not so much angry as he was resigned, he grasped at gloved and quivering hands, and pushed the commander back onto the bed.

"Stop this lunacy, commander, and please settle down."

"I _won't_..."

Destro could already feel the commander's strength waning away though, and the hitch of his breath told Destro that he might already be regretting the erratic move.

"..._let go_, Destro..."

Destro waited, hands wrenched firm and unmoving around the commander's wrists, with the sort of patience he realised could only have come through working with the other for so long.

It was the smallest of silver linings in such a disastrous partnership.

"Don't you...don't you have better things to be doing?" the commander hissed. He still pulled, albeit rather uselessly, against Destro's hold.

"Yes, I do, actually."

"Like what?"

"Like keeping Serpentor off your back."

The commander stopped struggling, very suddenly. He sunk slowly back down onto the bed, as if he'd been hit with something far more sobering than Destro's restraining hands.

Destro let go of him, still with some apprehension.

The commander turned his head away, as if to glare at the wall.

"Pass me the drink."

Destro frowned at the nearby bottle of vodka, attractively signed with far too many kisses from the Baroness. She was good at winding Destro up like that.

"Please reconsider. Drowning your woes in alcohol isn't going to help."

"Who said anything about drowning woes? I'm celebrating not being dead."

There was a beat of silence, in which Destro noticed hands uncurling, and then just clutching at the bed sheets, as if there was nothing else.

"Just let me have some fun, Destro," the commander muttered. "You know that Serpentor doesn't make it easy anymore."

Destro blinked, taken off-guard by more than just the weariness in the other's voice.

_One of those annoying tiny moments again._

Destro sighed. He passed the vodka bottle over to him.

"Fine. You win, commander. This time."

"Are you joking?" the commander gestured to the hospital bed. "I've lost, and horribly. In case you hadn't noticed," his head bowed, to inspect and press experimentally at the bandaging about his chest. "Perhaps Zartan really is out to kill me."

Destro rubbed a hand to his temple.

"I wouldn't know," he grimaced, more to himself. A sting of conscience, perhaps. "But your foolish mercenary friend did tell me he was accountable for the accident."

The commander looked quickly back up at him.

"...he did?"

"Yes. I suppose there's something _vaguely_ honourable in that, isn't there?" Destro's mouth moved, into a careful line. "I do hope he's worth all the trouble, commander. For your sake."

The commander tilted his head, in a curious motion.

"Be careful, Destro. People might start to think you care or something."

It made Destro want to do something radical, like smile at him.

"Not at all, my dear commander."

The weight within his chest hadn't so much lifted (frankly, Destro didn't know he'd been carrying anything like it), but it had moved, creating a strange sense of relief.

The commander opened the vodka bottle, and poured a couple of drinks they both knew they'd regret in the morning.

"Here's to not being dead, then," he paused as he raised his glass, seeming to consider Destro. "And to not caring about things."

Destro nodded. "And to another bad influence, I'm sure."

The commander laughed, and Destro was compelled to as well, as their glasses clinked together.

Destro sometimes wondered if he was just as cracked as the commander.

Must have just been another one of those tiny moments, though.

88


	3. Part 3

**Part 3: Pretending (and other inconveniences)**

88

88

There was blood on the floor this time.

Zartan looked at it with a detached expression; like watching paint dry, or wondering when he might be able to leave some dull event he'd attended only out of politeness. In truth, his heart was trying to escape his chest, and his stomach clenched like it was being squeezed by a fist.

But he had always been good at pretending.

Masks of deceit, in more ways than the literal ones, were what had helped him succeed as the self-titled 'Master of Disguise'. He could lie, trick and con his way out of (and into) _anything_, if need be.

And a well-practised smile went a long way.

Serpentor returned the smile, although it didn't reach his eyes. He wasn't much for self-control, as the current situation demonstrated, and Zartan could almost_ feel_ the rage still emanating from the Cobra leader's garish outfit.

"Have someone clean this unfortunate mess up. I have other more pressing matters to attend to."

His shadow crept across Zartan for a few seconds, and then he was gone.

Zartan didn't move until he was certain of that. Then, as everything dissolved back to the steadfast hum of monitor static and bleeping buttons, his smile slid away.

He rushed over to the commander.

There were little shards of glass glittering all around him, and Zartan's stomach clenched again, as he noticed the blood still stemming out onto the floor. His breath baited, until he saw the commander's chest moving up and down. Then Zartan remembered to breathe again too.

"Why can't you learn to keep your _damn mouth shut_, commander?"

It didn't take very long for him to come round, and then to protest and complain about Zartan's careful hands, as he pulled him upright. His head rested, perhaps unwillingly, against Zartan's chest.

"...what're you still doing here?" he sounded irritated.

"What does that matter? Can you stand up at all?"

"...in a moment."

"Immediately would be better."

"How pushy. You're worse than Destro."

Zartan flinched. "Don't you dare even_ suggest_ that."

The commander sunk against him some more. "And just as touchy."

It wasn't so bad, then.

Zartan could feel the tension that had wrought his bones and muscles slowly begin to ebb away. And then an unexpected and _sharp_ wave of relief, there only to remind him that the commander might be more than just another pay check after all. It always seemed to happen like that.

How inconvenient it was.

"...what's wrong?" the commander was still talking. "Are you even_ listening_ to me, Zartan?"

Zartan blinked, studying his own reflection in the mirrored mask.

He needed to remember that practised smile again.

"You're bleeding, commander."

"Yes...it's annoying, isn't it?"

"Is it under your mask? Here, I can-"

"_Don't,_" the commander hauled himself quickly out of Zartan's grip.

He leaned forwards on the floor, as if he might throw up. Then he shook his head as though to bat away a headache, as well as Zartan's aid. He wiped a gloved hand over his jacket. Zartan noticed the tremble in his fingers.

"I'm much better now."

"If you say so," Zartan didn't believe him at all.

He budged back a bit on the floor, and sighed.

The trouble, besides Serpentor himself, was that the commander was much too stubborn.

It wasn't a bad thing, necessarily. Sometimes it even worked to his advantage, like the unhinged equivalent of an optimistic boss.

Someone who always saw the light at the end of the tunnel, or that blasé _never say die_ kind of attitude.

Zartan could admire that. He _did_ admire it, and there was something interesting and kind of inspiring about seeing the commander at his most excitable, in more ways than one. Nobody could say that he lacked ambition, at least. Even within the throws of failure, he'd always come out of it with a new and demented idea. Whether it was any good or not didn't matter; he'd carry on regardless.

Zartan was usually happy to go along with whatever it was (money was money, and he enjoyed those bonuses), but now, as he stared at the bloodied floor, things felt very different and wrong.

"Perhaps you should reconsider this plan, commander."

"That's a ludicrous suggestion," the commander flinched as he readjusted his helmet. "This is just a minor setback, that's all."

"You think Serpentor's a 'minor setback'?"

"I didn't say that," the commander sounded like he was scowling. "And you might show a bit more faith in me, Zartan."

"You know that I do."

The commander turned his head away.

Zartan knew it wasn't a matter of pride, either. The commander was far too reckless to pay much concern for things like that. Besides, ideas of reputation and nuance were supposed to be Destro's department.

"_Unthinking insubordinate serpent! When will you learn to hold your loose tongue, commander?!_"

Zartan turned round in time to see Destro exploding through the door. His face was livid even through his metal mask, and his large fists were curling and uncurling, as he stormed over to them.

Zartan automatically moved in front of the commander, but Destro didn't look fazed. He pushed easily past Zartan, and bent down;

"_Well?_ " he grasped the commander's shoulders, shaking him just a bit. "Are you alright?" he demanded, voice touched with urgency.

"...yes," the commander muttered, like a sullen child.

Destro sighed, a sound that moved between exasperation and something else. He rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"_Good_. I suppose," he dragged his hands over his face as he walked over to the largest monitor screen in the room. There, he began swiftly tapping some random commands into the keypad. Stuff Zartan didn't know or even care to know about.

"_Stop_," the commander cried. He staggered to his feet, and then toward Destro. "Stop it, Destro! I _order_ you to stop!"

"Restrain him," Destro's eyes didn't leave the monitor screen.

Zartan dithered, but the decision was made for him. The commander hissed as he sunk back down to his knees, clutching at his side.

Zartan followed after him, a hand hovering and then resting on his shoulder.

"Be still, commander."

The commander furiously shook his head. "You're undoing all my work, Destro..."

Destro glanced at him. His mouth twitched into a softer line.

"I'm doing this for your own good, commander. Do you honestly think that Serpentor will not have Mindbender check back on our operations here? You know as well as I, Mindbender is looking for any reason to provoke right now."

"_He won't. _I've been careful!"

Zartan stared between them both. "Does Mindbender suspect anything?"

"_No-_"

"We _don't_ know," Destro corrected. He finished tapping in a few more commands on the keypad, and then he looked at the commander with a much sterner face. "But we can't take chances anymore. If Serpentor finds out about this...he shall have your head, commander," he seemed to consider it. "Frankly, I'm surprised he hasn't already."

The commander hissed again; a sound of frustration.

"I never asked you to get involved, Destro."

Destro nodded. "I know. And I remind myself of that fact daily. It happens whenever I decide to question my sanity."

"So_ stop. _The coil is _my_ project. I don't need your help, Destro. I can do it by myself!"

Destro grimaced. He looked at Zartan.

"Keep an eye on him. I think he might be concussed, at the very least."

He looked over his shoulder, where the familiar figure of the Baroness was standing in the doorway. Zartan didn't know how long she'd been waiting there, but she was tapping her foot, and looked unusually anxious about something.

"I have to go," Destro said.

Zartan watched him leave, before feeling the pull of the commander against his arm. He didn't realise he'd been holding onto him so tightly.

"You can go too, Zartan," the commander muttered. "I told you, I'm fine now."

Zartan snorted.

"Hardly, commander," he hesitated, and then attempted a smile. "Why don't you come back with me for a bit?"

"To where?"

"My beautiful abode, of course. I'll kick the Dreadnoks out for a while. It'll be like old times. And who knows, you might even have a good time."

The pause for consideration was not imagined, and the commander probably looked conflicted, if Zartan could only have seen past his mask. He liked to imagine it that way, anyway.

But the commander shook his head.

"There are too many things to do. Besides, Scrap Iron is waiting for my latest instruction-"

Zartan pulled a face. "You're ditching me for_ him?_" he was only half-joking. "Surely not? You know he's about as trustworthy as a used car salesman."

"That may be so. But he answers to money fairly well too."

"_Hah_. And no doubt Mindbender will offer him even more."

"Mindbender could always offer you more too, Zartan. You work for Cobra, not just me exclusively, remember."

Zartan stared at the stunned reflection of himself in the commander's mask.

"My cause is to _you._ Or do you think me so disloyal?"

The commander shrugged. "I would understand, Zartan. If you're afraid of the consequences, or that you might reconsider our dealings together..."

"I'm not reconsidering _anything," _Zartan grasped his arm, exposing one of the many tears that the Emperor had already cut into it. "And I'm not afraid of Serpentor, either."

"I find that difficult to believe."

Zartan snarled.

Perhaps it was his own fault; he should have made it clearer. But Zartan had no use for sentiment at the best of times, and to try to put into words; that twist in his stomach, whenever he thought that the commander might seriously be hurt...well, it was irrelevant now.

And he was too _angry._

"You know what? Destro's right. Serpentor _is _going to kill you one of these days. And it'll be all your own doing, commander."

The commander's shoulders shook with a cold laughter.

"I didn't mean to offend you, Zartan."

It wasn't an apology; far from it. The words were thick with familiar sarcasm, even if the commander's stance was still so unassuming. Somehow still vulnerable and pathetic.

It was almost enough to make Zartan want to forget his anger. _Almost._

He stood up.

"I suppose I'll be seeing you, commander."

He lingered just a moment, foolish enough to expect a protest, or something like it.

But the commander didn't say anything, nor even tilt his head in way of acknowledgement. Instead he got up (an unsteady attempt, but still successful) and walked over to the monitor screen. He began typing as if Zartan had completely disappeared from sight.

So Zartan did disappear.

The corridors were too long and bleak toward the Drome exit, and he passed by Scrap Iron on his way out.

The line of the Cobra's mouth was already a sneer when he looked at Zartan, and Zartan wanted to punch him out. He practised another smile instead.

"The commander is waiting for you."

He was good at pretending.

88

It was raining that evening, and Zartan didn't mind at all.

He sat in his usual spot on the porch outside the cabin; soaking up his muddied surroundings and considering his next employment venture. Being a mercenary was a practical occupation, and he had no use (or time) for worrying about how often the commander fell, and _hard_, in front of the Cobra Emperor. And then how easily and more often it seemed to happen, and then all the blood on the floor...

Zartan stubbed his cigarette out, and stomped it under his boot.

_Damn, but he shouldn't have left him like that._

Such useless thoughts were often cut short by Dreadnoks, but they were all out this evening. Off on some thankless mission with his brother or sister.

Instead Zartan was interrupted by the Baroness.

The shape of her seemed to snap out of the darkness. She was drenched in rainwater, running straight towards him as if her life depended on it.

"What is-" Zartan said.

He didn't need any further elaboration, as he looked past her shoulder where a vehicle was bobbing precariously in the marshy waters. Destro emerged from it.

He looked much bigger than usual. It could have been because of how he held the commander in his arms, or perhaps the commander just looked more diminutive like that. It was hard to tell.

Zartan did notice the cracked stem of his helmet, and the blood glistening on his mask. His arms hung loose and limp at his sides, and perhaps he was already dead...

"_What happened-_"

Destro barged past him, flinging open the cabin door with a kick of his leg. "What do you _think_ happened?"

He sounded tired more than angry, as he set the commander on the nearby couch. There he knelt down, and his large hands seemed to become unsteadier, wavering over the prone form, like he was afraid he might break something far too delicate.

Eventually he just turned his head, to look up at the Baroness. He made an uneven scoffing sound.

"...I knew this would end badly."

The Baroness put a hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing you could have done, my darling."

Zartan blinked; some unspoken dread finally catching up with him. It was much worse this time.

"Serpentor?" he said, through his teeth.

The Baroness nodded. "Yes-"

Zartan made towards the bow and arrow that hung upon the wall. He was already halfway out the cabin door when a rough hand grabbed his shoulder, whirling him back round.

Destro looked furious. "_Think_, you moron! We cannot act in anger right now."

Zartan pushed him back. "Your dear Emperor seems to believe that is _exactly_ the way to act! I'm simply following his psychotic lead."

"You'll be killed on sight."

"I'm happy to risk it!"

Destro laughed, but it sounded embittered.

"And where was this foolish bravado a few hours ago, Zartan? When the commander could have used your protection? Good of you to make yourself_ so scarce_ when you're most needed."

"_You_...!"

Zartan aimed a punch, but it was clumsy and full of ill-placed emotion. Destro was ready for it, and the Baroness easily blocked it anyway.

She wove in between them.

"Calm down, _both _of you. We cannot afford to bicker amongst ourselves right now. There are _other_ problems."

As if in explanation, she gestured to the couch.

The commander's head had tilted to the side, and all three of their tensed figures were reflected within his bloodied faceplate.

"...she's right," he spoke, and his voice was barely above a brittle but sardonic whisper. "...touching as it is, seeing you all fight over me..."

He started to cough, his chest rattling with the effort.

"_Commander!_" Destro said.

He ran to him, a hand grasping his lapel, but the commander didn't say anything else. Destro looked grimly at the Baroness.

"We need to attend to his injuries at once."

"Obviously," she looked at Zartan. "And are you willing to cooperate too? For the good of the commander?"

Zartan dropped his bow on the floor. He rubbed an arm roughly over his eyes.

"Silly question, Baroness."

He walked over to a small coffee table, and pressed an inconspicuous remote. The room faded out from rustic browns and burnt orange shades, into the clinical metallic of a control room; blinking lights of various control panels and small monitor screens flashing all around them.

"There are medical supplies in here," Zartan opened up a unit. "Take whatever you need. Or whatever might help"

"Thank you," the Baroness said.

Zartan still felt useless and terrible. He could only watch on, as Destro muttered vaguely soothing words (they sounded strange coming out of his mouth), and his hands moved carefully over the commander's faceplate.

Zartan glared out the window. "I'll wait outside."

"What's the matter? Too squeamish for you?" asked the Baroness.

"Not at all," Zartan paused. "But I promised the commander I would never look upon his face. I would like to keep to my word, if it's all the same to you."

The Baroness's gaze might have softened, but she didn't say anything else to him.

Zartan didn't mind. He left the cabin in a hurry.

The rain was beating down much harder now, and the purplish-blue night sky lit up with random flashes of light and crackles of thunder.

Zartan didn't mind that, either. He sat and watched it; a welcomed and temporary distraction, as time seemed to slow down.

He counted the threads of lightning whenever they struck. It was as if he could pretend that nothing else was happening for a while.

8

The storm had finally stopped by the time he ventured back inside in the cabin.

"He'll live," the Baroness informed him.

"But bitten off more than he can handle," Destro grumbled. "I knew this would happen."

The cabin had been restored back to it's rustic mask, complete with burning fireplace and flickering lamp lights. Destro was sitting on a chair in a corner of room, his expression weary and dimly lit. The Baroness stood near the window, her alert gaze occasionally flitting back to the commander, before looking back outside again. It was like she was waiting for something. Zartan didn't care to know what.

He stared at the couch. The commander had not moved from his prone spot, and there was little inkling that he might be conscious at all. There were the most careful attempts at bandaging about his torso, and the blood had disappeared from his cracked faceplate. His chest moved up and down, more slowly than before.

Zartan didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"What happened?" he spoke into silence. "Did the commander provoke him again?"

Destro shook his head. He slowly massaged his temple. "It was someone else's doing. They informed Serpentor of the coil."

Zartan swore, and kicked his boot into the ground.

"It was inevitable," the Baroness said. "Only a matter of time before it was all found out."

"But who was it?_ Mindbender?_"

"We have our suspicions, but nothing that can be proven," Destro's gaze rested blankly on the wall. "And we have no use for pointing uncertain fingers at this time. It will only put ourselves in more danger."

"But the commander...he can't endure much more of this, no matter what he says. Serpentor must be out to kill him at this very moment!"

"I don't believe so," Destro looked undisturbed. "The coil is already old news, and Serpentor is a petty creature; he grows bored quickly. Now that he's had his little temper tantrum he'll welcome the commander back into Cobra quite happily, so long as he comes crawling on his hands and knees."

Zartan scowled. "The commander won't do that, though."

"He will have no choice. Where else can he go?"

"He can stay with _me_. I can protect him."

Destro laughed. "You and what army? Those hooligan Dreadnoks of yours? Speak sense for once, Zartan."

He didn't wait for Zartan's reaction, his eyes finally pulling away from the wall, as if coming out of a trance. He stood up and walked over to the commander, seeming to study him for a long moment.

"I would ask that when he wakes, you tell him that the Baroness and I are still loyal to his cause."

Zartan blinked at him. "You're_ leaving?_"

"Temporarily, to attend to the fallout, of course. Cobra will have gotten word of this conflict by now, I'm sure. They'll need some...reassurances," Destro sighed, and looked at Zartan more warily. "I trust you're capable of looking after the commander for a few mere hours?"

"Of course I am. But I thought that-"

"He's here," the Baroness interrupted them.

Through the window Zartan noticed the flash of white, as sudden as any bolt of lightning. He knew at once that it was Storm Shadow.

Destro raised a halting hand.

"It's alright. He's on our side," he looked at Zartan with some rare semblance of amiability. "Take care of him, won't you?"

Zartan nodded. "But what if someone comes here looking for him?"

"Then it would be a fine opportunity to protect your commander, wouldn't it?" Destro's smile soured.

He and the Baroness left without another word.

Zartan hung back against the cabin wall for a few minutes, listening to the foreboding rumble of thunder as it vibrated through the ground and touched his feet. The rain was starting to fall harder again.

He walked over to the couch and knelt down to the commander. He hesitated, and then pressed his hand over the other's.

The commander didn't stir at all.

"Another minor setback," Zartan decided. "Nothing to worry about."

But it was getting so much harder to pretend, for some reason.

88

88

Zartan had not planned to fall asleep.

The remnants of a lost dream about knives and arrows fell away from his mind in pieces, just as a lamplight smashed on the floor, temporarily putting the cabin into darkness.

He flicked on another light, and found the commander cursing on the floor.

Zartan jumped to his feet, aghast.

"_Commander!_ Stop this at once, you are injured!"

He grabbed him, and pulled him back up and onto the couch.

The commander made an angry sound of protest, and had a surprising burst of strength; a leg lashing out and connecting fiercely with Zartan's torso. It was short lived though, and Zartan barely registered it.

"Keep_ still_. You'll only make your injuries worse."

"How awful..." the commander said, through pants of breath. "...you're crushing me...by the way..."

"I-"

Zartan realised that he was pressed quite bodily, on top of the commander, effectively pinning him to the couch. He shifted, so that the bulk of his weight fell away, but he only fractionally loosened his hold on the other's wrists. He didn't trust that the commander wouldn't try to get up again.

_Stubborn, senseless snake._

Oh, but now hereally_ was _beginning to sound like Destro.

"...hah...this isn't very comfortable, is it?" the commander said, through a more sedate gasp. His breathing seemed to be settling beneath Zartan too, like some cautious surrender, but Zartan didn't trust that either.

He curled his fingers around wrists some more.

"I can sit like this forever, commander. Or until you promise to stop being so foolish."

The commander laughed, but it sounded like a painful effort.

"We're stuck here then. Not such a bad thing, I suppose..."

His body rippled, and one of his legs began to curve, somewhere around Zartan's back.

It was usually a welcomed act, but for once Zartan wasn't interested. And he knew that the commander was only trying to distract him.

Zartan bowed his head, teeth gritting together.

"You can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" the play of innocence in the commander's voice was infuriating.

Zartan squeezed his wrists.

"Serpentor will_ kill_ you."

"I thought mindless violence appealed to you..."

"_And_ _I thought you were dead!"_

Zartan's voice carried around the cabin like something wild and unleashed. And it wasso much more desperate than he'd intended.

The tiniest silence followed it, as if to absorb and process the exclamation between them both.

Then a softer sound, like a sigh;

"...it was Scrap Iron, Zartan..."

Zartan's eyes snapped wide open, unaware that he'd even closed them.

"...what?"

"I shouldn't have trusted him," the commander's head tipped to the side. He sounded sorry. "You were right about that."

"Commander..."

Zartan could feel the commander's entire body, pulsing the odd thrill between fear and excitement beneath him. His mask was very close, but it still only reflected Zartan's own expression, as it always did. The only difference this time was that he looked so distraught.

Zartan guessed he shouldn't have been so surprised about that anymore.

He made a small sound of despair.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

The commander's chest hitched. "Whatever you'd like, preferably."

Zartan shook his head. He grasped at gloved hands, holding them properly in his own.

He found that he didn't want to let go.

"You're a _damned inconvenience_, commander. You know that?"

"...hah. I try my best..."

"I mean it," Zartan leaned closer. "Can't you just forget about Serpentor? Just for a while?"

The commander's exhalation was unsteady, but it wasn't with pain.

"You could make me forget? Just for a little while..."

He arced slowly and suggestively up, to close the tiniest gap between their bodies.

Zartan didn't resist it.

He curved a hand along the imagined line of the other's face. "Make you forget, hm?"

The commander nodded.

Zartan only briefly debated with himself. It wasn't against what Destro and the Baroness had requested, and he was still technically_ taking care _of the commander. Just in a few more ways than one. Besides, they both knew.

As Zartan reached down, past bothersome fabric to heated flesh, he found he had good enough reason to smile again.

"This is one of your better suggestions, commander."

Everything was so much easier, he realised, when he didn't have to pretend anymore.

Even if it was only for a little while.

88

88

END


End file.
